


Forget me not.

by littleramblings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Terminal Illnesses, but a sort of happy ending, not everything is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleramblings/pseuds/littleramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis nods, forcing a smile because what else can he do? He's not God and he's not a fucking miracle worker, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget me not.

**Author's Note:**

> Deliberate ambiguity over the illness. Let your imagination fill in the gaps.
> 
> This has been translated into Italian by the lovely emma_austin and can be read as such here: [[x]](http://larrystylinsonistheway.tumblr.com/post/60778261869/questa-oneshot-e-una-traduzione-dellomonima)
> 
> It is also in polish, much thanks to Camillie, and can be read as such here: [[x]](http://ijoonke.tumblr.com/post/63655731075/forget-me-not-tlumaczenie)

 

Louis starts by counting the weeks. They'd been told two months, three at the most (but when you're told that somebody you love is dying, what's an extra month? He'll be gone this time next year, no matter what you do.) and, as he crosses the 30th of June off of the calender, he wonders how the hell Harry can act like there's nothing wrong. It's been 15 days.

 

They have 11 weeks left (at most.) 

 

The numbers are written so small that, if you were to squint, it would look like nothing but a blob of red in the corner of the box. He doesn't want Harry to see, doesn't want him to know that in 11 weeks there wont be a Harry Styles in the world any more. Really, how can you put that on the shoulders of a nineteen year old? It's not fair. None of it is.

 

“Tea?”

 

Harry's leaning against the door frame, beanie covering his curls and Louis wonders how long he's been standing there. How long he'll have until he _can't_ stand there.

 

The whole god-damn world isn't fair.

 

Louis nods, forcing a smile because what else can he do? He's not God and he's not a fucking miracle worker, either. 

 

(was his skin always that pale?)

 

 

.

 

“ _Louis, do me a favour?”_

 

“ _What?”_

 

“ _Don't treat me like I'm made of porcelain.”_

 

.

 

 

 

It's surprisingly sunny for England. What's even more surprising is the fact that they have the day off, able to enjoy the heat without having to stay seated for hours upon hours due to a scheduled signing, or something of that variety. 

 

They're back in Cheshire and Louis knows that he shouldn't have come, that he should have gone to Doncaster and let Harry be alone with his family, but he's selfish. He doesn't want to let Harry out of his sight for even a second, because what if?

 

Anne doesn't seem to mind though. It's as if she knows something's up (which is impossible as he clearly remembers Harry begging him not to say anything to her, Robin and Gemma. He doesn't want them to worry.) and she welcomes him with open arms, asking if they'll be staying in Harry's room or the bungalow.

 

They choose Harry's room.

 

( _“It's alright, Lou. We have plenty of time to come back to the bungalow before... you know.”)_

 

Louis wonders if he knows they only have nine weeks left.

 

 

.

 

 

The park is nice at this time of the year. Everything is so _green,_ so fresh and new and Harry thinks that he might miss it. Everything's _alive._

 

“I would have brought my kids here.” he muses. 

 

Louis' fingers slide in between Harry's, gripping tightly and not letting go. “Tell me.”

 

“They'd like it, I think. I hope.” Louis nods in encouragement, silently telling him that _yes. They would._ “And, they'd be playing. Football, or chasing a frisbee around, or something. The sun would be shining, rather like today, and I'd get them an ice-cream from the van and somehow nobody would recognise us. There'd be no cameras, no paparazzi, just us. Having fun, and... and Darcie will complain because it's too hot, and Leo will take the piss out of her for being such a girl, and in the end you'd have to deal with them because I'm going to be the cool parent, yeah?”

 

The trees start to blur together as Louis' eyes cloud over. 

 

(He starts counting the days after that.)

 

 

.

 

 

Fifty-six days turns into forty-nine, then forty-two as their time get filled with recording, rehearsals and promotion. Harry spends a Tuesday morning throwing up into the toilet while Louis strokes his back with one hand, holding his hair away from his forehead with the other.

 

 

“ _You better wear braces to my funeral or I''ll fucking haunt you, Tommo, I swear.”_

 

“ _Don't.”_

 

“ _...Sorry.”_

 

 

_._

 

 

“And a big treat for you Radio One listeners, we've got the lads of One Direction in the studio today! How are you doing boys?”

 

Liam smiles, answers with the usual _“We're all good, thanks. What about you?”_ and pointedly ignores the game of footsie going on between the two sat to his left.

 

“Good, that's great. Busy year coming up, am I right?”

 

“That's right, yeah.” it's Zayn this time, leaning forward on his elbows as he speaks into the mic. “The new single's out next month, followed by the album in... when is that, Liam?”

 

“It's out in about 12 weeks, so that's just over two months.”

 

“Yeah, two months. Then we're going to be touring after that, so we've got a lot of rehearsals coming up. Quite busy, yeah.” 

 

“How's it all for you, Harry?” Nick asks, turning his attention to the boy with a soft blush on his cheeks and smug twenty-something lad sitting beside him. “I've heard you've been a bit poorly recently, everything alright now?”

 

Harry clears his throat, hands rubbing over his denim-clad knees as he relays what he's said so many times before. “I'm getting better. Not fully there yet, but definitely better. It was food poisoning, I think... last time I let Louis cook dinner.” he adds with a laugh, forced and painful for Louis to hear, but it seems believable to most.

 

He tries to be offended, he really does. He even lets out a soft _“hey!”_ of protest for the benefit of the radio, but inside he wants to cry. Wants to scream. Wants to do _anything_ to let everyone know that it's _not okay._ Not everything is fucking rainbows and sunshine, and he hates the fact he's the only one to know that by the time it comes to the tour, there wont be a One Direction any more. 

 

But Harry wants as little people to know as possible, so Louis keeps quiet and lets his fingertips brush against Harry's knee. 

 

For forty days, he's here.

 

 

.

 

 

“ _What are you writing?”_

 

“ _Letters goodbye.”_

 

“ _Oh.”_

 

 

_._

 

 

A week later finds them with a day off, curled up in bed with some cheesy programme about the top fifty boy-bands playing on the TV. Two cups of tea lye cooling on the bedside table.

 

“You know,” he begins, stretching lazily as the song switches from Westlife to the Backstreet Boys, “It would be pretty cool if we make it on here one day. Like, imagine this time next year and--”

 

And Harry pauses as though he's only just remembering that there won't _be_ a ' _this time next year.'_ It's probably not far from the truth, because Harry doesn't dwell on these kind of things, and for once Louis really wishes he did, because that look? He never wants to see that look cross Harry's face again.

 

So he pulls him closer, chest against chest and nose buried into soft curls that are a lot less curly now than they used to be. 

 

“We will.” he whispers, thumb stroking a bold caress against the back of Harry's neck. “One day we will.”

 

Harry lets out a soft whine and Louis feels dampness against his neck, but doesn't comment. He's trying to ignore the top draw of the dresser where he knows ten envelopes are tucked away under a pair of faded blue socks. 

 

“You make us brilliant, Harry.” he swallows, loud to his own ears and he hopes he's the only one who heard it. “We... we're not _us_ without _you._ ”

 

He's honest, he's being so honest that it hurts and they sit there in silence, letting it surround them as they both try to keep ignore it.

 

After a while, and Louis' not too sure how long it's been, Harry whispers something hoarse.

 

“You make us brilliant too, Louis.”

 

 

.

 

 

The day after Louis marks twenty-six on the calender, they go to Australia. 

 

Harry wears jeans and a shirt because he feels colder than he should in a 16 degree Celsius heat, and Louis wears three-quarter lengths so he doesn't feel quite so alone. 

 

It feels good to be back down under where the sea is always clean and the people are always polite. It makes a change from England, makes it almost like a holiday instead of a work thing.

 

They're at the beach, all five of them, with Liam surfing and Niall and Zayn sitting under the shade of a ridiculously large sun umbrella. Harry and Louis are by the shore, sitting far away enough so that the sea only reaches their toes but close enough so that they can still smell the salt in the air. 

 

“This is nice.” Harry says softly, shuffling down on the sand far enough he can rest his head on Louis' shoulder. 

 

“Hmm,” Louis hums, low in the back of this throat as he winds an arm around Harry's back. Despite being the taller of the two, Harry has no problem curing into his side, limbs clumsily overlapping in a way that surely cannot be comfortable yet Harry never complains. (He doesn't complain about a lot of things.) “It is.”

 

Something warm curls in Louis' stomach as Harry noses at his neck, eyes closed and a soft smile playing over chapped lips. He wants to freeze this moment, keep it locked away forever for just the two of them to look back on and re-live again and again, but he can't. 

 

“I've always liked Australia.” the words were mumbled sleepily, Harry's lips brushing against Louis' skin as he speaks. “Always been a great place for us... being us.”

 

And Louis wants to ask, because what the hell does that mean? But Harry's breathing has already evened out and he doesn't have the heart to wake him. Instead he sits there, the sun shining down on them both, and tries to memorise every little detail he can of right now even though he knows it's not enough. He could have a picture perfect memory, and it'd never be enough.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

“ _Lou?”_

 

“ _Yeah?”_

 

“ _I think... I think I need a little help.”_

 

 

 

_._

 

 

 

Harry enters the hospital with fifteen days left to go, but Louis doesn't think he's going to make it that far. He's pale, incredibly thin, and Louis' _scared_ , okay? 

 

The public story is that he's getting his appendix removed, because he still doesn't want anybody to know. ( _“They'll find out soon enough anyway. What's a few more weeks of hiding in the long run, yeah?”)_ Fuck, not even _Anne_ knows the truth.

 

It's just Louis.

 

“I didn't try treatment because I didn't want to spend whatever time I had left in and out of hospitals.” Harry's voice startles Louis from the trance he's been in for God knows how long. It's hoarse, as though he needs water, but Louis knows he's already had two 500ml bottles. “Fat lot of good that's done.”

 

Louis breathes in shakily, taking Harry's hand between his own, and squeezes. He doesn't know what to say, he's not the one lying in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him. He doesn't know what it feels like to be dying.

 

“If I could change it, I would. I'd do _anything_ Harry.”

 

“I know you would.” Harry smiles, small and sad. “You've been saving me since I was sixteen, but you... you can't save me now.”

 

Louis bites his lip, his eyes are glazing over and he feels so fucking selfish to be the one crying when it's him who should be comforting Harry. “I'm sorry, I'm so...”

 

There's a gentle pressure against his hand, not much, but it's enough to make breathing a little easier. “I know, Lou. But it's not your fault. You can't play God.” Louis nods, raising their joined hands to press a kiss against his knuckles. They're cold, clammy, but Louis relishes in the feeling because Harry's still _here. “_ Just... promise me one thing, yeah?”

 

“Anything.”

 

Harry closes his eyes briefly, a small blush rising to his cheeks and Louis thinks this is the most beautiful he's looked in weeks. “Don't forget me.”

 

“I won't.” he breathes, determined. “I won't, I promise. How could you- fuck, Harry. I could never, _never_ forget you.”

 

Harry would laugh, if he had the energy. Instead he settles for a smile, a faint promise of dimples on his face. “Just making sure.”

 

They sit like that for a while longer, hands clasped tightly together as the heart monitor beeps steadily, a comforting sound in the otherwise quiet room. Quiet until-

 

“You remember what I said about the letters, right?”

 

Louis nods. “Top draw. Give them out after--” he clears his throat, eyes falling to the crisp whiteness of the bedsheets. “After. And be there when they need me. Look after Anne and Gemma, and the boys--”

 

“And let them look after you, too.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I mean it, Louis.” Harry says, tugging on the other's hand to get him to look up. “You're going to need somebody too, so if you try to be all strong and macho, God help me I will haunt you until you're old and grey.”

 

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, Louis cocks his head to the side, whispering. “That doesn't sound so bad.” 

 

Harry's features soften, looking at Louis like he's a stray puppy in need of a home, and Louis knows he shouldn't be doing this, he should be strong, but if these days are his last chance at getting Harry's attention then he's going to be selfish. “And you don't go forgetting me, okay? Wherever you go; heaven, limbo, another fucking life even, just... don't forget me.”

 

“I won't remember anything else.”

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

The boys visit early the next day bearing smiles and grapes, full of optimism. Niall complains about missing Harry's cooking and Liam reminds him that getting your appendix removed is absolutely nothing to worry about. That he's going to be fine, up and running again in no time.

 

Harry listens with a smile on his face, taking in the moment and saving it to memory. 

 

Half way through Liam's speech, Louis excuses himself to the bathroom. The corridors are mostly empty, only a few members of staff dotted around and he's thankful that they can afford private health care. He doesn't think he could keep himself in check if he had to fake a smile right about now.

 

The bathroom's not occupied, thank god, and Louis' careful to lock the door behind him before sinking to the ground, back pressed against the cool wood as his hands rise to cover his face, muting a choked sob.

 

He can't do this.

 

He can't watch Zayn smile fondly at Harry, watch Niall and Liam chat away excitedly about going back on the road again, knowing that it's not going to happen-- not the way they want it to.

 

It's too much.

 

The cold blue tiles of the floor squeak against his converse, the noise too loud and too sharp, and he suddenly feels like he can't breathe. Everything is heightened; the brightness, the silence, the sense that he's oh so _alone_ in this. He wishes he had never auditioned for the X-factor, never met Harry and never been a part of One Direction because then he wouldn't feel like _this._ Like he's too big for his skin, that there's something inside of him, clawing its way to the surface. 

 

Like he's caving in on himself.

 

But he knows that, if given the chance, he wouldn't change a damn thing. Because no matter how badly this gets, knowing Harry and knowing the rest of the boys has made him feel so alive, and he owes it to them to be strong. To keep the promises he's made, to man up and not hide away in a bathroom, crying to himself.

 

He knows that when he leaves this room, when he gets up, brushes himself off and opens the door, he's can't break down again. 

 

( _Ten more minutes,_ he thinks to himself.)

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

The next day Harry can't keep his breakfast down, throwing up violently into the paper bag provided by an on-call nurse. Louis whispers soothing words into his ear, carding his fingers through sweaty strands of hair as he trains his eyes on Harry's features, now pasty and sullen.

 

“It's okay, babe.” he whispers softly. “It's okay.”

 

They both know it's not, that it's far, far from okay. But Harry sinks back into his embrace after rinsing his mouth out and brushing his teeth, eyes closed and breathing ragged, nonetheless.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

“Here,” Harry says, reaching under his pillow for something cool and firm. The sun is setting, a soft glow of pinks and oranges visible through the partially opened curtains. “I want you to have this.”

 

A silver paper plane hangs around a thin chain, now a little less cold to the touch after being enclosed in Harry's fist. It falls into Louis' palm easily enough, the colour a beautiful contrast against his tanned skin.

 

“Harry...”

 

“No, please. I want you to have it.”

 

Louis swallows, then nods. Harry had never taken this necklace off, not since his seventeenth birthday when it was gifted in a small box with a pretty, white ribbon. “Okay.”

 

Harry smiles, small and almost relieved, before leaning back against his pillows. “Tell me a story, Lou.”

 

“About what?”

 

“Anything.”

 

Clearing his throat, Louis racks his brain for something fun, something with a once upon a time and happy endings, but he's drawing a blank. So he goes for something simple, something warm and familiar. Something _them._

 

“Our first New Years eve party was mental.” he starts. “There were what, a hundred people? A hundred and fifty? All packed into our apartment. I didn't know half the people there, friends of friends and their other halves, drinking cheap booze and eating discounted crackers. You spilled beer on your shirt, remember? Had to change it half an hour before midnight... you changed into one of mine, do you remember that Harry? The plaid one? I'd never worn it, and never have because it's sort of become yours now, hasn't it. And you look great in it, Harry. You really do. 

 

“Mind you, you look great in everything. I think you've got about a billion people who'll testify to that. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm not supposed to be checking you out” he chuckles, ducking his head. “But sometimes I can't help it, because you're just _there._ You're always there and it's like you're a part of me now, I gravitate towards you and you're just... you're you.

 

“And I love you.” he can't look at Harry, can't meet his eyes as he says this because it's true and despite wearing a layers of clothing, he's never felt so naked. “You're not just my best friend, Harry. You're- you're everything. And I can't believe I haven't realised it until now, fuck, I'm such an idiot, but... but I love you. I'm _in_ love with you, Harry.”

 

There's silence for a minute, a pause where Louis waits, holding his breath because _fuckfuckfuck._ Another second ticks by, followed by another, and he risks glancing up at the younger boy.

 

Harry's asleep, eyes closed and lips parted slightly, a curve of a smile on his face. He looks peaceful.

 

And that's when Louis hears the flat line.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

The funeral is beautiful. Louis wears braces because he clearly remembers Harry telling him to, and Gemma cries onto his shoulder as the coffin is lowered into the ground.

 

He watches with a lump in his throat and a heavy weight in his heart.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

_Louis,_

_If you're reading this then I'm dead, and don't you dare flinch at that word because it's the truth. Also, this is the most cliché opening to any goodbye letter, so let's just skip ahead to the part where I tell you to be strong, okay?_

 

_I mean it. I want you to do what I can't, and that's live. I want you to live for me Louis, so you better do that. Have fun, fall in love, be a bit mischievous. But don't forget me._

 

_I love you. And I probably should have said it when I was alive, but I was a coward. (Or who knows, I could have said it to you. I've got a little while left after writing this-- yes, I have seen what you write on the calender.)_

 

_There's not much more I can say, you've been with me every step of the way. I want to thank you for that. I know it mustn't have been easy, having to keep it from everybody else, but you did. You did it for me, and I'll never forget that. Thank you so much, Louis._

 

_And please, let the others take care of you just as much as you take care of them, yeah? I'll watch over you but you're a lot to handle, so you've got to let others be there, too. You deserve so much love, so much happiness, so please. Don't lock your heart away after this._

 

_Always, Harry._

 

 

 

 

_._

 

 

 

 

The sun is bright and there's an ice cream van parked around the corner. Darcie falls over her own feet trying to kick the ball back to Leo, and Louis smiles, raising a hand to where the outline of a silver paper plane hangs around his neck under a thin cotton t-shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted over at my LJ and tumblr. The latter of which is foreversecretlyyours, if anyone's interested.


End file.
